


all the light we cannot see

by confessa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 4 + 2 things?, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slow Burn, but this is what we ended up with, honestly this was supposed to be something different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confessa/pseuds/confessa
Summary: Steve and Natasha, through the eyes of everyone else.Then through each other's eyes.





	all the light we cannot see

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this was supposed to be "5 times Natasha comforted Steve...and the 1 time he comforted her."
> 
> But well, my brain wouldn't cooperate and we ended up with this hot mess. At one point, I might just delete this and actually write the fic I wanted to. In the meantime, please settle for this.
> 
> T/W: panic attack, but it is only briefly described.

 

**Bruce**

 

Steve had fallen asleep on the couch. His body had tipped over onto the cushions at the end of the three-seater, and his head lolled to one side at an angle that would undoubtedly give even the super-soldier a neck-ache by the time he woke up. Bruce smiled sadly. They had hardly gotten a break in the days since the Snap, as people were calling it. The world was in chaos, and the Avengers had been forced to reassemble in the aftermath of Thanos’ destruction, coming together to bring some leadership to a world that had lost 50% of its population and, as Steve blithely put it, Earth's best defender. In the wake of Tony's disappearance, in the face of such unimaginable destruction and loss, the Accords were quickly forgotten and the rogue Avengers given full presidential pardons. Steve Rogers, ever the poster boy, had been forced to take up the most prominent mantle, leading the clean-up efforts and rehabilitation measures. Behind the scenes, S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rest of the Avengers strategised day and night to find a way to reverse this mess, because there  _had_ to be a way to reverse this mess. It was just not conceivable that this was the new reality.  

 

Bruce picked up a jacket that was lying on one of the other sofas - it was probably Rhodey’s - and draped it gently over Steve. He slid his hand cautiously under Steve’s head, trying to lift it into a more comfortable position without waking him up. Judging from the eyebags under Steve’s eyes, Bruce was guessing the poor man hadn't caught a wink of sleep in days. 

 

When Bruce nudged Steve’s head up, however, the man twitched almost violently, limbs jerking and knocking Bruce's hand away with superhuman force. His touch seemed to have triggered something, because Steve’s eyelids began to flutter and soft mumbles began to escape from his lips.

 

“No, no, please, no. Sam, Bucky.”

 

It felt like something was pressing down hard on Bruce’s chest. He closed his eyes, the exhaustion in his bones weighing on him. He felt helpless, unsure of what to do - it felt like he was intruding on a moment too intimate for his presence. He began to shift backwards, away from Steve, away from the words slipping out of his nightmare, because this was an intrusion of privacy, and Bruce knew what it was like to wake up and discover that others had without your consent, without even your knowledge, seen a side of you that you wanted kept hidden. Steve continued to mutter frantic words. 

 

“No, not you too. No, no, Natasha.”

 

Steve’s eyes flew open and he yanked himself up. “Natasha!”

 

“Woah, woah, buddy.” Bruce said, pushing away his instinctive need to run and rushing back forward to his friend. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re at the compound. You’re home.”

 

Steve was breathing heavily, in an almost laboured way. His eyes were slightly wild. “Bruce? W-where...where’s Natasha?”

 

“I don’t - she must be -”

 

"Is she...is she- oh god, where is she?"

 

“I’m here.”

 

Bruce whipped around, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He hadn’t even heard Natasha come in, but when did anyone ever hear the Black Widow unless she wanted them to. Natasha dropped a black duffel bag at the doorway into the room and strode over to the two of them. A teasing smile was on her face.

 

“Hey, old man.” She said, voice velvety and smooth. Bruce was familiar with that voice. It was the voice she had used whenever the Other Guy had come out, when the Hulk needed to be calmed down. She slid onto the seat next to Steve casually, almost like she was just joining him to watch a movie. Bruce wished he had half her self-assurance, half her composure.

 

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice was cracked and broken. His body was tense, as if he was holding himself back.

 

Something pressed hard on Bruce’s chest again. It hurt. He slowly took a step back, knowing he was definitely intruding now. Natasha smiled at him apologetically and...gratefully? He didn’t know how to read her expression. It had been so long since they had seen each other. Things had changed though. That much was clear. He mouthed a “take care of him” to Natasha and quietly exited the room.

 

He couldn’t help throwing a quick glance back just before he left though. The scene made his chest ache even more.

 

Steve had dropped his head down to Natasha’s shoulder, finding refuge in the crook at the base of her neck. Natasha was carding her fingers through his blonde hair, murmuring softly to him.

 

“I’m here, Steve. I’m okay.”

 

“I can’t lose you too.”

 

“I’m here.”

 

“I can’t.”

  
  
  


**Rhodey**

 

Silence hung in the stagnant air, pregnant, suffocating. The unthinkable, the unimaginable, had happened. The horrified screams wafting in from the battleground and, more chillingly, from the city beyond clued all of them in to what was happening. Rhodey imagined the same thing was happening all over the world, all over the universe if he understood Thanos’ intentions correctly.

 

Half of the universe, wiped away. With a snap.

 

At the centre of it all, Steve Rogers lay defeated. Rhodey could not remember the last time he had seen the captain look so lost.

 

His own mind was drawing a blank. Thoughts unable to form. All he knew was that they had lost, they had failed, and that the lives of billions were on their hands. Trillions. Who knows what lay in the universe out there and thanks to Thanos, they may never find out. Rhodey’s eyes watched Steve, looking but not seeing.

 

“What do we do?” The raccoon - _the talking raccoon_ \- finally spoke, after what felt like an eternity of silence.

 

No one had an answer.

 

Rhodey wished someone would speak, wished that _he_ could speak. But his head was leaden and his tongue too thick in his mouth, unable to form words even if he had tried. He looked to Steve again - the captain - but Steve was still sitting back on the ground, eyes glassed over, hand on Natasha’s shoulder as she kneeled beside him.

 

It took a few more minutes before Thor finally, _finally_ , spoke up. He sounded weary, tired. “We cannot sit here like this. We need to...we need to regroup. We need to do something.” He turned towards the battlefield behind him. “There are people who need us.”

 

Those words seemed to kickstart the Wakandan general into action. Okoye jerked, red eyes widening, an expression of guilt and grief rapidly crossing her features.

 

“M-my-” Her voice cracked and Rhodey's heart ached. For her, for everyone, for everything. But then she squared her shoulders, drawing herself up and training her expression into an immaculate, neutral mask. When she spoke again, her voice rang strong. “I will gather my people. They...They need to know what has happened to their King.”

 

She fixed everyone with a cold glare, as if she expected someone to challenge her. Rhodey was filled with admiration for her. He needed to be strong too.

 

“We need to debrief at the castle.” Thankfully, his command coming out clear and steady, as if on auto-pilot. He was a war veteran. This was like muscle memory. He had been through losses before - his mind knew the steps to take. 

 

“Y-yeah, we, uh need to take account of the - the losses.” Bruce said, licking his lips and nodding, shaking himself out of his stupor. “We need to know who’s fallen. Then we can come up with a game plan.”

 

 _Wanda. Vision._ Rhodey’s mind replied. _Sam._

 

Rhodey knew, just somehow knew, that Sam was gone too. Had disintegrated into dust. He would have come otherwise, would have clapped Rhodey or Steve on the shoulder, pulled them up and silently lead them away. Maybe he would even have made some inappropriate joke. 

 

“Come.” Thor said, beckoning them. “To the castle.”

 

There was no Sam to pull them along. 

 

And Steve Rogers still sat at the centre of their little circle, expression still that of a lost, tired man.

 

“Captain?” Rhodey said softly, taking a step forward, as everyone began to move. Thor had paused, scrutinising Steve with concern. The captain hadn't responded to Rhodey or any of the others - they may as well not have spoken, not had existed. Natasha grasped the hand that Steve had at her shoulder.

 

“Steve.” She said softly. Her words elicited an immediate reaction. The captain turned towards her, his expression almost child-like in its desperation. He was lost and in pain and he was looking at her to fix it. “Let’s go.”

 

Everyone in the clearing seemed to wait with bated breath. Steve just continued to stare into Natasha’s eyes, gaze unwavering. Rhodey’s mind wandered briefly to the past two years. They had been in exile together. He knew they had been partners before that too. Now, there was a tension in the air between them that made Rhodey feel like he shouldn't be here.  

 

His thoughts didn't go further though, because something seemed to click in Steve’s head and he finally nodded. He accepted Natasha’s help in getting up. Rhodey breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

 

“Let’s go.” Steve said. Even now, he sounded like a leader. “We haven’t lost yet.”

  
  
  


**Rocket**

 

“I need to talk to your husband.”

 

Natasha turned towards him with an amused smile. “Excuse me?”

 

“Your husband? I can’t remember his name.” Rocket scratched his ear, already irritated from his inability to find the guy. “I wanna talk to him.”

 

She seemed to find his words funny. “I don’t have a husband.”

 

“Uh...he’s not your husband? You know, blonde, tall, got a beard. Handsome and has great muscles?”

 

“You mean Thor?”

 

She was definitely making fun of him now.

 

“Cut the crap. This is important.”

 

“Okay, okay, little guy-”

 

“Woah, woah, what did you call me?”

 

“Do you want to find my husband or not?”

 

Rocket rolled his eyes. “So he _is_ your husband.”

 

“He’s not. His name is Steve.”

 

“Okay, so where’s _Steve_?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Rocket gaped at her. “What?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of him.”

 

“So you just wasted my time.”

 

“Sorry, I needed a break.” Natasha swung her chair back around to face the screen in front of her, a smirk on her lips. “Maybe try asking my husband?”

 

“Who??”

 

“Thor.”

 

“Bah.” Rocket spat out in disgust.

 

He would find the god-damn guy himself.

 

 

 

**Thor**

 

“Please, update me on what has happened in the time I was gone.” Thor asked Natasha on the plane, where they finally had a few hours to themselves. The group was leaving Wakanda to head back to their homeland, the United States of America, to New York where the compound was. 

 

Natasha smiled at him sadly. “You won’t like what I’m about to tell you.”

 

“I do not think so either, but I still need to hear it. The universe is at stake and our information too scattered.” Thor rubbed his face, feeling the long years he had lived in his bones. There had been so much death, so much sorrow and anguish, that he would rather he did not have to hear anything more. But he had gathered from pieces of conversation and vague words that something had happened on Midgard in his absence, and Tony Stark was still missing, so he need to understand. 

 

So she told him. She spoke of something called the Sokovia Accords, that had triggered strife amongst the Avengers and dividing them into two factions. Tony Stark had followed Steve Rogers and his friend to Siberia, where something happened - Natasha did not clarify, and Thor sensed that it was not her story to tell. She mentioned the time spent by Steve, Natasha and a man called Sam Wilson on the run, then how they had been contacted by Bruce when he had been sent back to Earth, after Stark had flown up to the alien ship in the sky and disappeared, about Vision and Thanos' search for the Infinity Stones. Thor listened with a heavy heart about how Vision had offered to sacrifice himself to ensure that Thanos could never achieve his goal, and a selfish part of Thor wished that the Avengers had not been so noble, that they had listened to the man and destroyed the stone while they could, but he understood. If he had been asked to sacrifice a friend, he would have gone to the ends of the universe for another solution before he took that path.

 

“You were not well prepared for an assault like this.”

 

Natasha was an excellent spy, and Thor had always wondered at her ability to maintain a completely straight face, but even he caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes. He regretted his words immediately.

 

“I do not mean to blame you.” He said kindly. “Even if the Avengers had still been together, I do not think it would have made a difference. I, too, was distracted.”

 

She smiled. Forgiven, so easily. “Where have you been, God of Thunder? You came back with an upgrade and less a hammer.”

 

So he told her. About his father and Loki, his sister and the destruction of Asgard, the loss of his people when Thanos attacked, Nidavellir and the crafting of the Gauntlet and Stormbreaker. Natasha laid a hand on his arm at one point and did not remove it, and Thor was grateful for her quiet compassion. She was a remarkable woman. 

 

“You have lost a lot.” She said simply, no pity in her voice, only sympathy.

 

“We have all lost a lot. But we have not lost everything. Some of my people are still out there, they escaped Thanos. Loki banished the good Lady Sif and some of Asgard’s finest warriors before that, and...and they must be out there somewhere. Valkyrie is searching for them, she will bring them to us, give us some numbers for the next battle. Thanos cannot...could not have wiped them all away, not all of them…”

 

Natasha’s hand was rubbing circles into his arm. It was calming.

 

“We can do this.” Thor said, needing to believe his own words. “We can find a way. It may take time, but we can defeat Thanos and reverse this.”

 

Natasha’s expression was conflicted. She did not believe his words, even if she wanted to, and who could blame her? But that was not the point of his words, because while Natasha was a very important person, the one that Thor needed to convince was someone else. He turned his head towards Steve, who was sitting at the front of the plane, gazing out the window.

 

“Steve Rogers must believe that.” Thor said. He trusted Natasha to understand his words. “We need to rally people together, to fight against Thanos, _together_.”

 

“You underestimate your own leadership skills.” Natasha said, her lip curling, teasing, but her eyes were distant. Her mind was somewhere else. 

 

“Aye, I am a king.” Thor said, smiling too. “But I am a king from a different world. The people of this world need their own leader.”

 

Natasha paused, cocking her head towards Steve too. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

 

“I can. I will. But he will listen to you.”

 

Natasha’s eyes flickered back to Thor sharply. He wondered what nerve he touched.

 

It took a while for Natasha to speak - when she did, her voice was measured. “People always expect him to listen to me. I may not be so successful.”

 

Thor shook his head. “I do not presume to know the relationship between the two of you well, but I have seen enough in the past week. He has never stayed away from you, and you have been at his side at all times. He trusts you more than anyone else.”

 

His words seem to sadden Natasha.

 

“I will try.”

  
  


 

**Steve**

 

The waking hours were the easy part. There was just _so much_ to do - meetings, press conferences, site visits, rescue and salvage operations, more meetings. Steve hardly had enough time to think. He was whisked from one place to another, often feeling like a ragdoll being carried around by a child running around a playground, handed task after task after task that he had no choice to accept. S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned him a P.A., Eliza, right off the bat. He couldn’t express in words how much he appreciated her help. If he had been left to his own devices, he wouldn’t have known what to do. She pretty much handed him whatever he needed, told him wherever he needed to go.

 

No, the waking hours were definitely the easy part. Things were structured. He had a list of things to do and he just had to follow them.

 

It was after all of those were done, when he was allowed to retire to his room, finally, that the difficult part began. It was when all the noise died away and he stepped into the quiet of this room at the Compound - he had insisted on coming back here at the end of every trip, returning to the rooms that had laid untouched since before everything went to shit and he had made all those mistakes, _god_ , so many mistakes, mistakes he could have prevented if only he had just told Tony, if only he had just called him, and now it was too late and Bucky and Sam and Wanda and T’Challa and Vision were all gone - and the thoughts in his head began to circle unbidden, funneling around like a tornado and whipping up more and more pieces of his past into a wormhole that threatened to just-

 

“Steve”.

 

Vaguely, he was aware that he was having an panic attack. Vaguely, he was aware that he was kneeled on the floor of his bedroom, hand braced against the bed-frame. The sheets were soft. Tony always kept the best sheets.

 

“Breathe.”

 

It was Natasha. Natasha, who had been beside him almost every day for the past two years. What would he do without her? Her hands - soft, so very soft, despite the years of fighting - were rubbing his arms, his shoulders. He didn’t keep track of where they were, just that they comforted him.

 

He realised a few minutes later that they were moving at a very methodical speed, and that his breathing had come down to the same pace. He opened his eyes - Steve hadn’t even realised they had been shut tight all this while - and looked at Natasha next to him.

 

There was never any judgment in her eyes. It was always neutral, caring.

 

“It’s not fair.” Steve said.

 

Natasha cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m always the one breaking down.”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

“No I mean...I’m always the one being comforted.” Steve swallowed thickly. His limbs felt exhausted and weak now that the attack was tiding over. “I mean, I never seem to help you.”

 

Natasha laughed then. She sat down on the ground, motioning for him to do the same, their backs against the bed. “We don’t keep score.”

 

“...No, we don’t.”

 

They didn’t say anything after that. The two of them were never one for words. It was always Sam that kept the conversations going. Always Sam that filled the silence with a running commentary on everything from missions to his life before he met Steve to something as mundane as the “stupid fucking pigeon that won’t shut the fuck up”.

 

Steve’s chest felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped out everything that was there.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Steve reached for her hand without looking. He didn’t have to look. Her fingers intertwined with his almost automatically.

 

“Stay for a while?”

 

“Always.”

  
  
  


**Natasha**

 

She followed him up to the roof of the compound the night before they were set to leave for Wakanda again. Natasha had noticed him slipping away after the team briefing and, although she debated letting him have his alone time, she also felt selfish. She needed this talk, needed to tell him what she had kept holed up in her own mind for the past three years. And tonight was her last chance.

 

So she followed him, keeping a short distance above and giving him some lead time. When she swung open the door leading out to the roof, she made enough noise to alert him of her presence, even if he didn’t turn around to acknowledge her. Natasha walked up to his side, taking in the dimly lit grounds beneath them, knowing he would never reject her presence. She was always welcome, he had made that known to her before. 

 

“Nice night.” She said.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how Steve tensed. “The calm before the storm.”

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence after that. Neither were one to really talk much. They had learned to work together not through conversation, but through sheer experience - they had gone on so many missions together, fought by one another’s side so many times, that their bodies had learned to work in sync. It was like muscle memory. Steve was practically a part of her.

 

Tonight was not the night for unspoken words though. Natasha was well aware that their plan was very likely a suicide mission. There was very little chance all of them would come back from this.

 

And Natasha couldn’t bear the regret if she didn’t tell Steve what she wanted to. She had thought about it for a while now, about what exactly she wanted to say. It was now or never. Funny, how she managed to stay calm during even the most dangerous of missions, how even with a knife at her throat or a gun clocked against her head, her heart continued to beat calm, but now, when she had to speak to the man who was her other half, her blood pounded in her veins and her nerves twisted into painful knots. 

 

Natasha took a deep breath and opened her mouth to begin.

 

“Nat.”

 

She closed her mouth again, stomach dropping in disappointment that she had been interrupted. She tried to hide her irritation. “Yeah?”

 

If Steve noticed it, he didn't react to it. He was gazing out at the grounds still, arms crossed at his chest, his eyes troubled. “Tomorrow...this plan that Tony has...We don’t have many options but still, he’s emotional, from the kid’s death. It may not end well."

 

“We’re probably all gonna die, yeah.” Natasha said, smiling, saying plainly what Steve was so reluctant to voice. Dark humour was her strong suit. Steve didn’t seem to find it funny.

 

“I won’t let you die.”

 

Natasha regarded him curiously. Steve was still not looking at her, his gaze fixed intently on some point on the horizon. His shoulders were stiff.

 

“You okay, Steve?”

 

“You’re always asking me that.” His voice was harsh and Natasha retracted the hand that was already rising up to touch him. Steve sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I’m just saying…” He focused his gaze at her then, almost reluctantly. “You’re always taking care of me.”

 

“We had this conversation.”

 

“I know.” Steve said quickly. “I know." He shook his head, staring at his feet as he kicked out at some unseen pebble, frustration evident on his tired features. "God, this conversation is going all wrong. Can we just restart?”

 

“You really don’t have experience talking to women, do you?” Natasha said, giving him an easy out. She knew Steve would never say anything to intentionally hurt her.

 

“I really don’t.” His reply was unexpectedly earnest. He peered at her, and there was something in his eyes that made Natasha’s heart quicken. “I’ve always been terrible at it. I think at some point, I just gave up.”

 

“What a waste of that face.” Natasha murmured, turning to humour again to lighten the mood, because she had a pretty good idea of where this conversation was going to go, and she wasn’t comfortable unless it went on _her_ terms.

 

“It’s been a waste of time.” Steve said, voice still too earnest. He had shifted closer to her. Natasha resisted the urge to step back. “I’ve waited too long and now we’re going on a suicide mission, and all I want is more time.” He closed his eyes, as if that brought back painful memories. “Wanda and Vision were reckless, but they made the most of what they had. Me? I’ve...I've failed.”

 

“Steve.” Natasha tried to find her words. It was true. They were out of time. She knew what he wanted, knew from his proximity that he was waiting for her to close it, to confirm to him that she felt the same way.

 

But she hadn’t said her piece yet, and as much as her body wanted her to move, to just _touch_ him, she had to speak first. She had to.

 

“It hasn’t been a waste of time. These past two years, I don’t regret a single moment of it. I-” Natasha paused, bit her lip. She was usually so good with words and yet she couldn’t find the correct ones now to articulate her thoughts, her emotions, her goddamn feelings. Her whole practiced speech had been thrown out the window.

 

“I…” She started slowly, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. When she opened them, Steve was staring right at her. It emboldened her a little. “I spent my whole childhood being trained, then used, as a weapon. I did horrible things, I had no morals, no qualms about killing. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury picked me up, Clint became my partner and I gained a purpose. To wipe out the red on my ledger.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything, only listened, so she continued.

 

“It was good, it was enough. Then you came along and, well, I-” Natasha paused again. “You challenged me to think. You showed me what it was to be good, to trust others, no hidden agendas. And more than a purpose, I found a leader. Someone I was willing to follow, no matter what.”

 

Steve shifted at that. “Nat-”

 

“I don’t mean blindly.” Natasha quickly corrected herself, smiling at his uprightness even in this moment. “I just mean...wherever you go, I go. And if you go too far, I’ll be there, to pull you back.”

 

They fell into silence again after that. Natasha swallowed hard - she very rarely opened up like this, and now she felt exposed, embarrassed. Steve had still not broken eye contact, but he wasn’t saying anything. As the seconds stretched on, the butterflies in her stomach turned into painful churning.

 

“Well, guess that was a terrible speech.” She said, trying to smile again but failing, already feeling the rejection coursing through her veins.

 

“No, it was…” Steve paused, eyes pained. “It’s more than I deserve.” He stopped again, and his next words were barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

Natasha stepped in then, cupped his cheek with her hand. “We shouldn’t waste any more time weighing our worth, hm?”

 

Steve chuckled, turning his face into her hands, eyes closed to her touch. His hands came to rest on her back, a gentle, tentative touch. “I’ll try not to bring it up.”

 

“Good.”

 

When Steve opened his eyes again, Natasha closed the gap between their lips.

 

When they broke apart a few minutes later, Steve touched his forehead to hers.

 

“I need you.” He said.

 

“I need you too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve and Natasha are really difficult to write. I have a Tony & Peter fic going on right now and it's SO much easier to write. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> This is only going to be a one-shot for now, because I don't have the bandwidth or the creativity to pursue a multi-chapter Romanogers fic, but maybe in the future...


End file.
